Meant To Be? No Way!
by Leia
Summary: [Complete] They detest each other, but at the same time are intruiged by what is glimpsed but unknown. Fate decrees they will become one, bonded through their son. Can destiny overcome scorn and pride to unite Bulma and Vegeta? We know, but do they?
1. Beginning

Disclaimer: DB/Z/GT do not belong to me. If by some miracle they did, I would give Namekusejins a much more prominent role! (Whoa! Go green! -Dende) Not that that had anything to do with this particular story, but ... *shrug*  
  


A/N: This is basically another disclaimer, this time about the story content itself. I wrote the first draft of this (yes, I write multiple drafts...) back when I was new to Dragonball Z fandom. I did not publish it at the time because, being a perfectionist, I wanted to make sure it was done to the best of my abilities, and it took until now for me to be satisfied. Hence the wait. 

At the time of its first writing, I did not know what a cliché genre Bulma/Vegeta get-togethers are considered, by many, to be. All I knew was that I had written three Kuririn/#18 stories, I wanted to try a Bulma/Vegeta, and I had a scene thought up, and the idea for this story went from there. (I must be the only K/18 and B/V fan out there) I had no idea how many Bulma/Vegeta get-togethers there are on the Internet, or perhaps I would have balked at the idea of writing one myself. 

At any rate, this was another reason why I continued to edit and re-edit -- I didn't want to be accused of falling victim to a cliché (not that I don't like Bulma and Vegeta stories -- I do), so I hesitated in posting this. It wasn't until my sister (an ardent Vegeta fan) began to threaten me that I actually decided to do it. So. I just thought I'd post this message, in case anyone thought of giving me bad reviews because of the subject matter of this story. I found this story entertaining, pretty realistic (ie., not sappy or mushy), and, in some parts, mildly amusing. Let me know if any of the characters seem out of role -- I try very hard not to do that, but sometimes it's difficult. Feedback is always appreciated.   
  
  


Meant To Be?  No Way!!

**Chapter One: Beginning**

It was morning; the sun's bottom rim had just left the horizon, and the pink and orange light that tinted everything had just begun to turn yellow.  Birds sang, flowers swayed in the gentle breeze . . . one could almost imagine soft music playing in the background.  It was completely peaceful.

Unfortunately, it was a peace about to be shattered.

"VEGEEEEETAAAA!!!"

The angry voice pierced the silence, and several startled birds took flight from the domed Capsule Corp. building, under which the voice had come.

Inside the building, Briefs Bulma pressed a hand to her forehead, wishing that, just for a second, she could have the power to blast a certain arrogant prince to pieces.  When no answer to her summons came, Bulma took in a lungful of air and prepared to shout again.  "VE —"

"I'm here, woman.  Stop howling."

Bulma whirled around to face Vegeta, black-haired and muscular, smirking as usual.   He was always smirking, no matter what she said to him.  _Good morning, Vegeta._  *Smirk*  _How is your training going?_  *Smirk*  _Why don't you ever talk to me??!_  *Smirk*  The only thing that got anything else out of him was, _Are you hungry?_  Even that elicited a sarcastic response — the same thing every time; merely variations on, _I'm always hungry, woman, since the vile glop you mistakenly call "food" isn't fit to feed even a pig like Kakarotto._

Today was probably no exception.  Bulma sighed.  "Vegeta, why is there no food in my house?"

Vegeta was holding a huge bowl of rice in one hand and chopsticks in the other.  "That was a stupid question," he snorted, "I ate it all."

Well, at least it wasn't just a smirk . . . nonetheless, Bulma struggled to hold her temper in check.  "Let me rephrase that . . . why did you eat everything?  I just went shopping yesterday, as you may recall."

"I know.  I was hungry," Vegeta's eyes glittered with malicious amusement.  "You told me to make my own breakfast, remember?"

"I didn't mean —" Bulma broke off, knowing this was getting her nowhere.  Vegeta was just trying to get her riled up, and darned if she was going to let him get to her this time . . .  "You used an entire turkey for your sandwich!"

"Doesn't everyone?" Vegeta watched in amusement as a red flush spread from the woman's neck, all the way up to her hairline.  The soda can she held in one clenched hand was beginning to crinkle and bend beneath her fingers.  Vegeta grinned evilly.  He finished off his rice, then reached out and snatched the soda can from Bulma's hand.  Draining the can's contents, Vegeta crushed it in his fist, placed it in the empty bowl with the chopsticks, and handed everything to a stunned Bulma.  Then he shot a self-satisfied sneer at her and walked away.

Bulma stared after him, mouth hanging agape.  By the time her brain caught up to the situation, Vegeta had gone, and Bulma had to content herself with glaring after him.  "That moron . . ." Bulma grumbled.  "That was the biggest mistake I ever made, when I let him stay here!" she growled to herself as she began washing the pile of dishes her "houseguest" had left her.

Suddenly something inside her snapped, and she slammed the dishes back into the sink.  "Let _him_ do them!" Bulma grinned to herself as a mental picture of Vegeta, elbow deep in soapsuds, came to mind.

  


The telephone rang.  Bulma had come to hate that stupid device — it only rang when she was in a bad mood.  She picked it up.  "_Hello_?!" she barked.

"Whoa, babe . . . is this a bad time?"

Bulma winced.  "Sorry, Yamucha.  Vegeta's just being his typical, idiotic self again."

"Yeah, I can sympathize," her boyfriend sounded disgusted and understanding at once — an interesting combination.  "You wanna' come meet me for lunch at our café later?"

"I wish," Bulma grimaced, "But I have to get groceries, and who knows how long that will take.  How about supper?"

"Sure, whatever's good for you.  I'll come pick you up at six?"

"Yeah.  That would be great.  I can't wait to get away from Prince Pain-In-The-Rear."

Yamucha laughed.  "I bet.  Talk to ya' later, babe."

Bulma hung up the phone, smiling.  Yamucha and his stupid jokes would help her forget that the World's Largest Ego was living under the same roof as she.  "Well, at least I'll get a few hours' reprieve while I'm shopping," she muttered.

Bulma found her keys, credit cards, and other necessities and put them in her purse, then walked outside.  She reached for the capsule which held her jet — 

"O _no_!!!" Bulma smacked her forehead.  The previous day, during a particularly heated argument over the use of the shower, Vegeta had snatched Bulma's capsules from her purse and blasted them to ashes.  Bulma hadn't gotten around to making new ones yet.

"Vegeta, you idiot, you are going to pay for this . . ." Bulma gritted through clenched teeth, though she wasn't sure exactly _how_ she was going to do it.  Maybe if she yelled loudly enough, she could damage his hearing . . .

She decided to postpone the punishments — for now, groceries were the first thing on her mind.  Stalking out to the gravitational trainer, where Vegeta was in the process of beating himself up in an attempt to surpass Son Goku, Bulma hit the manual override button next to the door and was gratified to hear the machine shut down.

Within seconds the door slid open, and Vegeta stormed outside.  "What do you want?" he demanded furiously.  Dressed only in his infamous black shorts and his body covered in sweat, Vegeta crossed his arms.  "Well?"

Bulma responded by plugging her nose and stepping back a pace.  "Phew, Vegeta, you _stink_!" she gagged.  "How can you stand yourself?"

"If you interrupted my training merely to tell me you can't stand a little sweat . . ." Vegeta growled menacingly.

"Knock it off," Bulma glared at him.  "That's not why I'm here.  I need to go grocery shopping."

"And I care because . . . ?"

"You wrecked my capsule jet yesterday."

"So?"

"So," Bulma repeated, struggling to be civil.  "You have to fly me to the mall."

  


She'd been expecting an explosive response, but all Vegeta did was lift an eyebrow.  "O, really?  I don't think so.  Now go away; I have to get back to my training."

"Hah!" Bulma retorted.  "If you don't take me, I don't get groceries.  If I don't get groceries, there's no food.  No food means you don't eat, and if you don't eat you die."

Vegeta stared at her for a second, semi-amused by Bulma's worst-case scenario thinking, but mainly annoyed.  _Well, two can play at that game_, he thought.  "And if I die, those androids will destroy the entire world, because no one else is strong enough to fight them," Vegeta snorted.  He snatched a towel from a hook inside the trainer and dried himself off, then pulled on a shirt.  "All right, let's go."

Bulma started to grin triumphantly, but stopped in confusion.  Had she won, or not?  She settled for sending him a scowl.  "Good."

Without warning, Vegeta caught her around the waist and took off into the air, flying at a tremendous speed.  Bulma shrieked and flung her arms around Vegeta's neck, holding on for dear life.  "Quit screaming," Vegeta grunted.  "I'm not going to drop you."

Bulma just buried her face in Vegeta's chest and tried not to cry out.  "Sorry," she squeaked.

Vegeta looked down and grinned to himself.  The woman was actually almost bearable when she wasn't yelling at him or making stupid threats.  Though there was something about her when she argued . . . a fighting spirit that was . . . almost . . . Saiyajin-like.  No other female Vegeta had known had ever been able to stand up to him.

Suddenly Vegeta realized the direction his thoughts were taking, and he shook his head violently.  He would not — would _not_ — let his mind go _that_ way.  Especially not now, when all his attentions must be focused on becoming more powerful than Kakarotto.  He couldn't afford any distractions. 

Bulma glanced up at him.  Her eyes were beginning to lose their panicked expression, to be replaced with a kind of awe as she watched the scenery whipping by.  A sudden realization struck her, and a wide grin spread across Bulma's face.  She was actually having fun!  Really, flying like this was no different than driving in an air car — Bulma always was a reckless driver, and flying with Vegeta was probably safer than when she took the vehicle.  _I trust him_, Bulma thought, amazed as this occurred to her, _I actually trust him.  The man who tried to kill us all, _and_ nearly succeeded, and I'm willing to place my life in his hands.  When did _this_ happen?_

Vegeta caught the grin on Bulma's face, and he felt a small flash of . . . of . . . something.  Pride, maybe.  He'd half-expected her to keep screaming and demanding to be put down — or fall into a dead faint — but instead, she seemed to enjoying herself.  Against his will, Vegeta knew his opinion of this loud-mouthed human woman had upped a notch.

"Do you always fly this fast, or are you just trying to scare me?" Bulma interrupted his thoughts, speaking in a teasing voice.  

Vegeta let out a short laugh.  "Both," he admitted.  

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, but my jet can fly faster than this."

"_What_?" Vegeta expostulated, insulted, not realizing that she was merely trying to get him riled up.  "Those stupid, metal _slugs_?  You must be kidding!  Bah!" a wicked gleam lit up his black eyes, and he snickered.  "Hang tight, woman!"

Bulma let out a short "eep!" of anticipation and she clung tighter to Vegeta's neck.  Sure enough, the Saiyajin doubled his speed, causing the wind to rush past Bulma with such intensity that it almost burned her — but the sensation was exhilarating all the same.  Trusting (_again? I'm getting soft or something!_) Vegeta not to let go, Bulma released his neck and twisted around in his grip, spreading out her arms like the wings of a jet and letting out a loud whoop of excitement.

  


Vegeta could feel Bulma's euphoria, and a small smile crept over his face.  Making sure his arms were firmly encircling her slim waist, he flew even faster, chuckling softly as Bulma laughed wildly.  It wasn't until a few minutes later that it dawned on Vegeta that he and Bulma were actually managing to get along . . . to cover his surprise, Vegeta spoke up in his usual snappish tone, slowing his pace slightly.  "Now where is this confounded shopping mall of yours?"

Bulma pointed out a city that was rapidly growing on the horizon.  "It's in the middle of that city there.  When we get closer, I'll show you," she rested her head back against his chest.  "This is better than taking my jet."

"Don't get used to it," Vegeta warned her.  "I'm not your chauffeur."

"I wouldn't want you to be," she shot back.  "If the _Prince_ of Saiyajins was my chauffeur, what would poor old 'third class' Son-kun be?"

Vegeta stared at her until he realized Bulma had made a joke, then he couldn't help but smile.  He began to see that Bulma shared his warped sense of humor . . .

When they reached the shopping center, Vegeta followed Bulma and her myriad shopping carts, glowering at the salespeople and grinning to himself as they scurried away.  Bulma herself was enjoying watching the cashier sweat as she brought all her merchandise to the checkout counter.  _Is this how Vegeta feels when he takes over a planet? _ Bulma wondered.  _If so, I can see why he does it . . ._

"I don't have a jet with me," Bulma smiled sweetly.  "So I expect this to be delivered to Capsule Corp."

"B-but . . . Ms. Briefs . . ."

Bulma dropped the sugar-sweet act and leaned forward over the counter.  "Listen, I didn't ask you, I'm telling you.  Otherwise, I'll just inform Daddy that we'll take our business elsewhere."

The cashier wilted.  Ever since Vegeta had come to stay at the Briefs' home, Bulma was the shopping center's largest customer.  "Yes, ma'am."

All smiles once, Bulma swiped her credit card to pay for the purchases, then waltzed out of the store.  "Are you finished?" Vegeta growled.  "This is ridiculous.  I am wasting my time."

Bulma shrugged.  "It wouldn't take so long if you didn't eat as much," she reminded him. 

"Listen —"

"I'm not going to argue with you right now; it's too hot out," Bulma glanced at her watch and raised her eyebrows.  "O, wow, it's lunchtime!  I'm starving . . . are you hungry?"

"I'm always hungry."

Bulma rolled her eyes.  "Of course.  You want to have lunch?  I'm buying."

Vegeta eyed her warily, then decided she wasn't trying to trick him into doing her a favor or something.  "Of course you're buying!  I don't have any of your stupid money."

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice," Bulma muttered, but didn't pursue the matter any further.  She led Vegeta to a large restaurant a few blocks away from the shopping plaza, and they were shown to a table almost immediately.  "Try not to eat everything in the restaurant, please?" Bulma pleaded.

Vegeta snorted.  "Don't know why you'd care . . . less cooking for you to do later," Bulma glared at him, so Vegeta scowled, "Fine.  I won't.  You order first."

  


Surprised by this apparent courtesy, Bulma glanced at the menu and smiled at the waiter.  "I'll just have a garden salad and a glass of water, please," she winked at Vegeta.  "Gotta' keep my figure, you know."

Vegeta looked her up and down, an expression on his face that Bulma wasn't at all sure she liked.  "I don't know why," he told her bluntly.  "With an ugly body like that, you should try to _lose_ that figure."

Bulma's face reddened in anger, but she controlled herself.  "Just order," she gritted through clenched teeth.

"Give me everything," Vegeta told the server, who blanched.

"Vegeta!" Bulma screeched, after the distraught waiter ran back to the kitchen.  "You said you wouldn't eat everything!"

Vegeta cocked an eyebrow.  "I'm not.  You're having a salad, remember?"

Even though Bulma knew she should be furious, the funny side of it hit her and all she could do was laugh.  "You're impossible," she wiped her eyes, which were tearing up in amusement.  "You really are."

Vegeta leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, but there was a small smile on his face.

Half an hour later, the Saiyajin had finished all the food and was starting in on the dessert.  Bulma watched, half in amazement, half in horror, as Vegeta tackled a humongous banana-cream pie.  Bulma reached out and snatched a muffin; Vegeta glared at her but didn't say anything.

All of a sudden, Bulma saw Yamucha walk into the restaurant.  She was about to wave when she remembered her reason for turning down Yamucha's lunch invitation.  "O, no . . ." she muttered, "This is going to look really bad . . ."

Vegeta stopped shoveling in a chocolate cake and lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.  "What's eating you, woman?" he looked up and saw Yamucha.  "O, wonderful.  Your idiotic mate is here.  Is that why you're so nervous?"

Bulma nodded.  "He invited me to go out for lunch with him, and I said no because I had to go shopping!"

"You did go shopping."

"How can I prove it?" Bulma asked.  "I don't have any bags with me, since it's all being delivered.  For all Yamucha knows, I could've turned him down to go out with you!"

"But you didn't," Vegeta scowled.  "Either you're not giving bandit-boy enough credit, or he doesn't trust you farther than he can roll you . . ."

"Did you just call me fat?" Bulma screeched, "Stop being an idiot!"

"You are fat.  And I'm not an idiot — that title is reserved for your 'boyfriend'."

Bulma wasn't listening, scrambling frantically as she was to get her purse in order.  "We have to go," she announced.

"What if I don't want to?"

"_Vegeta!_" she hissed.

But it was too late; Yamucha had spotted them.  When he saw Vegeta, his eyes narrowed and he walked over to them.  "Hello, Bulma," Yamucha's voice was level, but Bulma could hear the pain underneath it.

  


"Hi," Bulma flashed him a smile, which she knew was completely unconvincing.  At the same time, she was trying to figure out why she felt so guilty; Vegeta was right — she _hadn't_ done anything wrong.  Why did she feel like she had committed a mortal sin?  "Turns out the shopping didn't take as long as I thought it would —" and she recounted the events of the morning.

Yamucha just looked from her to Vegeta, and the hurt in his eyes was so great that Bulma wanted to cry.  "I really wish I could believe you," Yamucha shook his head.  "I'm sorry . . . but . . ." he broke off.

"I'm telling the truth!  We're still on for tonight, right?"  Bulma cried.

"I . . . don't think so," Yamucha said quietly.  "I just need some time to myself for a while," shaking his head, the dark-haired human left.

Bulma dropped her head into her arms and began to cry.  Vegeta watched her shoulders shake, and a sudden anger filled him.  For some reason he wanted to fly after Yamucha and throttle him — how dare that low-class human insinuate that he, Prince of Saiyajins, would have anything to do with a loudmouthed Chikyuujin female?!  

"That was insulting," Vegeta spoke up.  "The cretin actually thought I could stand being in a relationship with you!"

Bulma's head snapped up, and though tears streaked her face, her eyes were blazing.  "You could have said something!" she retorted.  "You just _sat_ there!"

Vegeta jumped in surprise.  "Your pathetic excuse for a love life isn't _my_ problem!  Even so, what would I say?  You stupid humans are so blasted suspicious it wouldn't matter _what_ I told him."

Bulma smashed her hand down on the table and stood up so quickly that her chair tipped over.  "You're not making this any easier, you know!" she yelled.  "Go back to your stupid trainer and chase your stupid dreams," Bulma threw down some money and stormed away from the table.  "Enjoy your dessert, while you're at it."

Vegeta got up, as well.  "You're not walking the whole way," it was a statement, not a question.

"Why shouldn't I?" Bulma demanded angrily.  "You've caused me enough trouble already — I could lose my boyfriend because of you!" she turned her back on him and began walking.

Vegeta stared after her, and for some reason a small twinge of something — sympathy?  compassion?  No!  It couldn't be! — flickered through him.  He watched as Bulma stalked off, head high and shoulders back, trying to appear in control of herself . . . though he knew, somehow, that she was trying not to cry.  Vegeta blew out his breath in a long sigh and followed.

"Leave me alone," she snarled.

"You're not walking," Vegeta replied simply.  He picked her up and flew into the air.

Bulma began beating his chest with her fists.  "Put me down, you stupid monkey!" she screamed at him.  "I don't want anything to do with you!"

"If I let you walk, I'd hear about it for days afterward," Vegeta pointed out, knowing it was only half true.  In this emotional state she'd probably cry in her room for days.

Eventually Bulma got tired of hitting him, and she collapsed in his arms.  Vegeta became acutely aware of her presence; he couldn't quite place it, but something made it hard to ignore her.  Finally Vegeta figured it out; against his chest he could feel Bulma's heart beating.  It was a strange sensation; oddly . . . personal.  For some reason it made Vegeta feel connected to her.

Perhaps feeling his eyes on her, Bulma looked up.  Her expression was haggard.  "I'm sorry," she sighed.  "I didn't mean to yell at you . . . it wasn't your fault."

  


Much to his surprise, Vegeta said the words he'd never uttered in his life — and had _never_ intended to say to her;  "Well, it wasn't yours,"  _Why did you say that?! _ he wondered instantly, but it was too late now.

Bulma glanced at him sharply, probably expecting him to make a sarcastic remark, but when he didn't, Bulma smiled softly and rested her head on his chest.  Vegeta tensed for a second, but said nothing.

When they got back to Capsule Corp., Vegeta dropped Bulma and went back to the gravitational trainer.  Bulma returned to the house to put away the groceries.

Inside the GT, Vegeta proceeded to destroy a number of training drones.  He couldn't understand why, but seeing the woman's tears did something to him — he couldn't decide whether he wanted to blow up a planet in anger, or (perish the thought!) conquer one and give it to her.  She was making him soft, that much was clear; he should have blasted her long ago for her temerity . . . but he hadn't.  It just didn't make sense!

What else didn't make sense was why the woman let him live at her house.  O, sure, there was the argument that Vegeta was a Saiyajin Prince and every inhabitant of this pathetic planet should be falling over themselves to give him room and board, but that had nothing to do with Bulma.  She had made it perfectly clear from day one that she didn't give a Namekusejin's behind about Vegeta's social standing . . .

Vegeta knew the real reason was that Bulma felt sorry for him.  A low, primal growl began in his throat, for he despised any form of charity with every fibre of his being, but even a Prince of Saiyajins knew when to leave pride alone sometimes.  He couldn't train properly without the GT, and certainly not if he had to worry about surviving on his own.

 It was odd — why should Bulma feel sorry for him?  He was a powerful warrior, second only to a . . . third-class, amnesiac of a Chikyuu-bred Saiyajin . . . cut off from his people . . . betrayed by his superiors . . . torn from his family . . . alone . . .

Vegeta snarled.  "_I do not need pity_!" he shouted at no one in particular, but the anger didn't last long.  It was instead replaced by confusion, which it always was.  He insulted the woman, he ate her food and made her do his laundry, he forced her to upgrade the GT and cater to his every whim . . . and she did it.  She would fight and make a fuss, but in the end she gave Vegeta everything he needed.  And not once — not _once_ — did she ever ask for anything in return.  It was strange.  Very strange.

"I don't need to give her anything back," Vegeta found himself saying, "I am a Prince.  She is a weakling.  It is her duty to make sure I have whatever I want!"

 _But still_, that annoying, nagging voice in the back of his mind pointed out, _It's not right.  Why should she continue to do so much for you, when you don't even say so much as a simple 'thank you'?_

So distracted were his thoughts that Vegeta didn't notice the gigantic ki blast that rebounded off one of the robots until it smashed into him between the shoulder blades.  Crashing into the ground, Vegeta winced in pain and reached up to shut off the gravity.  "That's enough for today," he gritted.  "Maybe I'll go see if that woman has made any food."

Climbing painfully to his feet, Vegeta limped out of the trainer and to the house, surprised to see night had fallen.  _Come on, Vegeta,_ he thought angrily, _You'll never surpass Kakarotto if you can't stand a little pain . . ._  Nevertheless, Vegeta reminded himself, there was no harm in taking a break . . .

Once inside the house, Vegeta was disappointed to discover that the groceries had not yet been put away — they were sitting in the kitchen, filling almost every inch of available floor and counter space.  Vegeta frowned in disgust; why the woman was so upset over her stupid mate was something he would never know.  He wasn't worth her tears.

Scowling, Vegeta stalked into the living room and flipped on the television.  It was set on one of the woman's mushy shows; soap operas, or something.  Why anyone would name a television show after a type of cleansing agent was beyond him.

  


With a snort, Vegeta quickly changed the channel.  He had no desire to watch humans alternate between yelling at each other and slobbering over one another's faces.  He had been curious about the affairs of Chikyuujin lovers at first, since with his warrior's heritage he had never really had time — or the desire — to form relationships, but after a while it got tiring.  Besides, he got enough romance-derived drama with Bulma and Yamucha around.

Vegeta continued flipping through channels until he found a war movie, to which he gave a grunt of satisfaction.  It was amusing to see pitiful human attempts at dramatizing violence, especially to someone who had annihilated hundreds of planets in his lifetime.

Throwing the remote control on the table, Vegeta flopped down on the couch — and just as quickly jumped to his feet, yelling in surprise.

Bulma sat up, rubbing her back and giving him the evil eye, despite the fact that her face was red and puffy.  "Watch where you're sitting, stupid," she snapped, curling into one corner of the couch and drawing her slender legs up to her chest.

Vegeta just dropped down on the other end of the sofa and fixed his eyes on the screen.  "You were crying again," he observed.

"So?"

Vegeta glanced at her, noting how miserable she looked.  "You shouldn't cry.  I don't like it when you do."

Bulma's eyes widened at Vegeta's sudden show of concern.  "What . . . why?"

"Because it makes you look ugly, and then your face makes me lose my appetite," Vegeta replied matter-of-factly.  He grinned.  "Why, what did you think I was going to say?"

There was a stunned silence for a few seconds, then a cushion came flying through the air to hit him on the head and bounce harmlessly to the floor.  Bulma sat in shock, shaking with rage, her face pale.  "What is your problem?!" she screamed at him.  "Are you _blind_?  Why can't you see I don't need this right now?!"

Vegeta leered at her, though he thought to himself that the woman wasn't half bad-looking when she was angry.  _What are you doing?  Snap out of it!_  "Listen, woman, your blubbering gives me a headache, and I can't train properly.  Why don't you get over yourself and move on?"

"I can't believe you're so heartless!"  Bulma shouted.  "I happen to love Yamucha, and I don't want to lose him!" she shook her head.  "But then, look who I'm talking to . . . you probably don't even know what the word 'love' means.  Want me to get you a dictionary?"

"I know what it means!" he growled.  "But I don't understand why you would point your affections at that weak human.  He obviously doesn't trust you, if he thought you would be involved with me just because we were eating lunch!"

Bulma shook her head, and she got to her feet.  "You don't understand," she shot at him,  "How could you understand?"

She began to walk away, but Vegeta reached out and grabbed her wrist.  "Don't walk out on me!" he snarled.  "Don't you —"

"I know, I know," Bulma glared daggers at him.  "Don't walk out on the Prince of Saiyajins.  Listen to everything he says.  Obey his every whim, lah-dee-dah," she sighed.  "What a horrible way to live."

Vegeta dropped her wrist.  "Fine.  Go," he frowned.

Bulma looked at him for a second, then sat beside him.  "Can I ask you something?"

  


"No.  I'm watching the movie."

She snatched the remote and turned off the T.V.  "Come on, Vegeta, I just want to talk to you."

He turned to glower, but just rolled his eyes instead.  "Whatever.  If you'll stop whining."

Bulma smiled appreciatively.  "Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

Great skies . . . when this woman said she wanted to ask a question, she really meant it . . . "No."

She gave him a sidelong glance.  "How come?"

He considered telling her to mind her own business, but it didn't really matter.  It wasn't like there was a deeply personal answer to it.  Vegeta settled back against the couch cushions, wincing as the burns across his back made themselves felt.  "I never had time.  I was too busy destroying planets to worry about forming attachments."

"I see," Bulma was obviously disturbed by this, but didn't comment.  "I think you missed out.  Your father was King of Vegetasei, and he —"

"Don't talk about my father!" Vegeta barked, making her jump.  "You know nothing about him!"

Bulma looked at him funnily.  "You cared about your father, didn't you?"

"Yes," he replied shortly.  Vegeta's eyebrows knit together in frustration — this was getting far too personal.

The woman must have sensed this, because she backed off.  "I'm glad," she picked up the remote and flicked the television back on.  "There, you can watch your movie now."

Vegeta turned back to the T.V., but he wasn't really paying attention.  He was thinking back to his childhood; how Furiza had threatened to kill his father if Vegeta didn't do everything Furiza ordered . . . then killed him anyway.

Suddenly, Bulma stretched and yawned noisily.  "Sorry," she apologized sheepishly when Vegeta glared at her.  "I guess I'll go to bed now."

Instead of getting up, however, Bulma rested her head on the back of the couch.  A few seconds later, her eyes closed and she fell asleep.  Vegeta shook his head.  "Stupid woman," he muttered, "Can't even . . . even . . ." he yawned.  "O, no . . ."

Bulma mumbled something in her sleep, and she turned to lean on Vegeta's arm.  "Hey!  Get off!" he cried, but the woman was exhausted, and Vegeta knew there was no way he could wake her up.  He'd come across her slumped over her lab table many a time, and Vegeta had once shot a ki blast right next to Bulma's ear with no effect.  Vegeta knew all he had to do was shove her away — he was obviously strong enough  — but for some strange, inexplicable reason, he didn't want to.  O, well.  It wasn't like anyone was going to _see_ them.

"Idiotic weakling," Vegeta sighed, and he moved his arm from underneath Bulma before his limb fell asleep.  Not knowing what to do now, Vegeta rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and rested his arm on Bulma's shoulders, since there was no room to put it anywhere else.  "Please don't let her wake up," he muttered.

A few minutes later, the Saiyajin's head fell back and he began to snore . . .

******

Oops . . . looks like Vegeta and Bulma could be caught in a rather compromising position, if anyone walks in on them. How would they get out of that one? Let's just hope that Yamucha doesn't decide to drop by . . . 

(P.S.... this is not a Yamucha-bashing story, though I don't go out-of-character in order to make him a saint, either. Sorry if that offends anyone, but I try to keep it as realistic as I can.) 


	2. Trust

Disclaimer: I do not own DB/Z/GT. All I own is my imagination, and even that tends to run away on me sometimes. 

A/N: I decided to post all the chapters in one sitting this time, as opposed to waiting a day or two between, because I don't know when I'd be able update next if I didn't do it now. So, enjoy.   
  


Chapter Two: Trust   


Yamucha took a deep breath as he prepared to knock on Bulma's door.  He felt completely terrible for accusing Bulma of cheating . . . he'd known Bulma long enough to realize she wouldn't do anything like that to him.  The question now was whether or not Bulma would be forgiving.

When no response came to his knock, Yamucha shrugged and walked into the house.  "Bulma?" he called, glancing around the kitchen.  Groceries were everywhere.  _She_ was _telling the truth_, Yamucha thought guiltily.  _Good thing I came back to apologize._

The sound of snoring came from the living room — Yamucha grimaced.  "What is Vegeta doing inside so early?" he wondered aloud, then made a face.  "O well, maybe he knows where Bulma is," Yamucha made his way to the living room, which was dark except for the light of the television.  It was the end credits of some war movie, which meant that Vegeta had had control of the T.V. last.

Yamucha flicked on the light switch.  "Hey, Vegeta, do you —" he broke off with a strangled gurgle.

Vegeta and Bulma sat together on the couch, Bulma's head on Vegeta's chest and both Vegeta's arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her to him.  Both were sleeping soundly.  "I don't believe it . . . !" Yamucha gasped.

The sound of his voice startled Vegeta, who jumped and sat up straight.  The Saiyajin's black eyes flickered to Bulma, noting with discomfort that their proximity was considerably closer than it had been before — if that were possible.  He figured Bulma must have snuggled up in her sleep and he had unconsciously responded — that, or he had put his arms around her first.  Neither prospect was particularly encouraging to his pride, especially with the enraged Yamucha fuming a few feet away.  

Despite his momentary embarrassment, Vegeta's mischievous nature won out.  A sneer crossed his face, and he jabbed Bulma in the neck with his finger.  "Wake up, woman.  You have company."

Bulma blinked a few times, and when she saw the position they were in she let out a shriek.  "Good heavens, Vegeta, why didn't you tell me I fell asleep?"

Vegeta grinned inwardly — Bulma obviously hadn't noticed Yamucha's presence.  He could have some fun with this, seeing how far he could get the woman to incriminate herself.   "Well, what did you want me to do?"

"You could have carried me to my bed, at least!" she huffed.  "It's not very gentlemanly to leave me on the couch!"

"Your bed, eh, Bulma?"

Bulma's eyes widened as she heard Yamucha's voice, low and angry.  "Yamucha!  I didn't know you were here!"

"Obviously," the dark-haired human crossed his arms.  "I came here to apologize for jumping to conclusions, but now I can see I needn't have bothered.  You obviously don't care about me, or you would have chosen someplace more private!"

Bulma flushed angrily and shrugged off Vegeta's arms like they were a pair of venomous snakes.  "What is your problem?  You're taking this too far."

"O, now _I'm_ out of line?" Yamucha demanded.  "I come in to see _my_ girlfriend cuddling on the couch with _that_" — he pointed to Vegeta — "and all of a sudden _I'm_ the bad guy?!"

"Don't give me that, Yamucha," Bulma snapped angrily, "Even if something had happened, which _nothing did_, would it really matter?  I know you've seen other girls behind my back before, so wouldn't we count as even now?"

Yamucha jerked back, looking wounded.  "That was _five years_ ago, Bulma.  I made a mistake and I'm sorry — and I thought you knew that.  Don't bring my past misjudgments back into the open to try to cover your own."

  


Vegeta decided to step in.  He didn't care about Bulma and Yamucha's relationship, but he didn't want the human to spread rumors about him and the whiny woman.  If Kakarotto ever got wind of it, he'd never hear the end of it . . . "Listen, you idiot," Vegeta got to his feet and glowered at Yamucha.  "The woman is telling the truth.  There is nothing going on between the brat and me."

Bulma opened her mouth to retort, but realized that however insulting he was, Vegeta was on her side.  She decided not to say anything this time.

Yamucha glared back, matching Vegeta's scowl eyeball for eyeball.  Bulma hadn't seen him look this determined in a long time.  "I don't know what you're trying to do; scare me off or just make me back down, or whatever . . . but it won't work.  I'm not going to lose the woman I love to you just because you're Saiyajin.  I don't care if you can beat me up — that isn't what's important."

_"I don't want the stupid woman!!"_ Vegeta yelled, beginning to get really annoyed.  "Are you thick, human?  You can have her, though I don't know why you'd want her!  She's ugly, and loud, and obnoxious, and —"

"Hey!" Bulma cried out indignantly.

Vegeta folded his arms across his chest.  "I came into the room and the woman was sobbing her eyes out over you.  She was so tired from her useless crying, and I from training, that we fell asleep.  That's all."

Yamucha still looked suspicious, but Bulma ran to him.  "Yamucha, please . . . there isn't anything between Vegeta and me.  Honest!" she grabbed one of his hands. "Please believe me?  I would never lie to you."

Finally Yamucha relented, and a small smile crossed his face.  "Okay, Bulma."

Bulma flashed him a brilliant smile, and she raised herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him, bringing her arms up around his neck.  Vegeta scowled and turned away.  Stupid humans.  Didn't they know it was rude to do that with someone else — especially royalty! — in the room?

Yamucha broke off first, smiling crookedly.  "I'm sorry for snapping at you . . . but you understand where I'm coming from, don't you?"

"Yes," Bulma tugged on his arm.  "Let's go take a walk."

"It's late."

"I don't care.  The stars are out."

Hand in hand, the couple left the house.  Vegeta watched them go, and as he did something rose up inside him.  He couldn't figure out what it was.  Could it be . . . jealousy?  Of course not!  That was impossible!

Vegeta frowned, because he knew this wasn't completely true.  If not at them personally, he _was_ jealous of something in their situation . . . how, despite their arguments, Bulma and Yamucha seemed to be perfectly content with each other.  Vegeta had never had that; he had spent his whole life fighting — whether it was for his father, for Furiza, or with Kakarotto and his friends.  He loved fighting; it meant more to him than life itself — but there was still a hole inside him, gnawing away like a hungry rat chewing on his insides.  Despite any inner denials he might make, Vegeta knew what it was.

A memory sprang unbidden to Vegeta's mind; an image of himself as a young boy standing beside his father, watching the stars . . .

_"You're a strong warrior, my son," King Vegeta looked down at his heir, pride in his eyes.  "Someday you will rule the galaxy.  And one day, when the time is right, you'll find a Saiyajin woman who is worthy to be your Queen."_

_  
_

_"A female??" young Vegeta's eyebrows shot up.  "I don't need a woman to help me rule, surely, Father!"_

_His father seemed mildly amused.  "You never can tell.  The Saiyajin was not made for battle alone, son . . . we  need passions of the heart almost as much as we do war.  Feelings don't weaken us, no matter what some might say."_

_Vegeta still looked skeptical, and his father, in a rare display of emotion, placed a hand on his head, Vegeta's spiky black hair sticking up between his fingers.  "You don't believe me now, but when you're older . . . besides, if I thought the way you do, you wouldn't be here."_

_Little Vegeta made a face.  "Eeyuck!" he exclaimed, sticking out his tongue in a disgusted grimace.  "It's never gonna' happen to me!"_

_King Vegeta just laughed.  "Whatever you say, son.  Someday you'll feel the emptiness, no matter how many you kill or how much glory you attain.  One day, you'll understand . . ."_

Now, Vegeta shook his head violently.  When they'd had this conversation, his father had obviously been thinking of a Saiyajin warrior or princess for his son . . . not a weak, blue-haired human.   The King would probably have a fit if he saw Bulma.

Vegeta glowered.  What did it matter, anyway?  Bulma wasn't his mate — wasn't anything close to it.  There wasn't anything to be ashamed about.  Of course there wasn't.

Was there?

The Prince of Saiyajins growled at himself and stormed out of the house to the GT, where he proceeded to turn up the gravity to 430.  The crushing weight pressed down on him from all sides, but Vegeta welcomed the pain it brought.  _This_ was what he lived for; to push his body to the limit, to drive himself as far as he could go.  Not any weak emotion, no matter what his father said . . . Vegeta's passion was to become stronger and once again reclaim his title as the greatest warrior in the universe — not some woman.

Especially not — 

Vegeta cut off his thoughts with an inward snarl.  He would not allow himself to say her name — not even in his head.

But his rebellious brain wouldn't let him have even this piece of mind.  As he slipped into battle mode, Vegeta found himself wondering what Bulma would say when he did surpass Kakarotto . . .

******

Bulma strolled through the garden with Yamucha, glad he was no longer suspicious.  Really, it was ridiculous to think that she would be having an affair with Vegeta!  He was disagreeable, and ill-mannered, and . . . and . . . _ugh_!  His opinion of himself was so high, it was a wonder his head didn't explode from all the pressure.  At least Yamucha had a realistic appraisal of his own fighting skills; Vegeta was unbelievably egotistical.  Incredibly good looking, but egotistical.

Bulma's eyes widened until she thought they would burst from their sockets.  "Whoa, where did _that_ come from?" she muttered.

Yamucha glanced down at her.  "What was that, hon?"

"Nothing," Bulma said quickly.  She squeezed his fingers.  "I'm really sorry I had you worried . . . I feel so bad . . ."

Yamucha shrugged.  "Yeah, well, I shouldn't have gone off the handle like that.  Let's just start over again, huh?"

"Sure," Bulma smiled.

  


They walked in silence for a while, and Bulma felt her mind begin to wander. It was just like old times; just her and Yamucha, together under the night sky, Yamucha's warm hand in hers.  The only difference now was the lack of the moon, but Bulma didn't really mind.  The moon reminded her of the fiasco with the Saiyajins . . . and Vegeta.

Bulma looked up at Yamucha, noting how the starlight hardened the lines of his face, making his features look sharper and accentuating his cheekbones and jaw.  For a second, he looked like Vegeta . . .

Unwittingly, Bulma thought back to the conversation she and the Saiyajin had had before the awkward argument with Yamucha.  There had been genuine pain in his voice when he talked about — or refused to talk about — his father, and it made her wonder.  Perhaps Vegeta was more human — well, whatever — than Bulma had previously thought.  It was certainly worth investigating.

"Hey, you," Yamucha's voice brought her back to the present.  "Where are you today?"

Bulma laughed nervously.  "Sorry . . . I was just thinking about . . . uh . . . the androids.  Yeah, I was thinking about what will happen when the androids come."

For a second it looked like Yamucha's eyes glinted distrustfully, but it could have been just the lighting.  Nevertheless, Bulma had to remind herself that Yamucha was her boyfriend . . . thoughts about Vegeta were wrong.  No matter how handsome he — 

No, no, no, no, no!!!

******

It was around four in the morning when Vegeta came inside from the trainer.  Bruised and bleeding but exhilarated, Vegeta couldn't help but grin.  He'd come _this close_ to hitting Super Saiyajin; he could feel it.  It wouldn't be long now.

It had been a week since their conversation on the sofa, and during that time Bulma and Vegeta basically avoided each other.  Vegeta pretended not to care one way or another, and Bulma was too embarrassed, so the only words that passed between them had been insults.

Vegeta stumbled into the kitchen wearily, and he flopped down at the table.  His head resting on the tabletop, Vegeta began laughing, not caring how psychotic he sounded.  _I'll surpass you soon, Kakarotto . . . and then we will fight.  We'll see who the strongest warrior is . . ._

"What is the matter with you?"

He looked up to see Bulma sitting across the table, holding a cup of coffee, an eyebrow cocked scornfully.  Vegeta's lip twitched in a derisive sneer. "What are you doing up?"

The woman put a hand to her forehead as if it pained her.  "I've been working on a program for the past few days, and I haven't been able to sleep.  I tried going to bed tonight, but I have a headache."

"Poor you," Vegeta scoffed.  He tried to get to his feet, but was too tired.  He'd have to scare her away somehow.  There was something different about her, though — and suddenly, it hit him.

"You cut your hair."

Bulma seemed to glow in appreciation as she fluffed her blue-green hair with one hand.  It was now cut to chin-length and held back from her face by a dark blue headband.  "Yeah, it was too hard to manage.  You like it?"

It _did_ look much better that way, but Vegeta certainly wasn't going to tell her that.  "Not really.  You look uglier than before," perhaps that would make her leave.

  


Not this time.  Bulma merely smiled.  "That's a compliment, coming from you.  How's the training going?"

Vegeta was mildly surprised — Bulma never showed interest in his fighting before . . . he took the opportunity to gloat.  "I'm almost there.  Soon I'll be able to pound your precious Kakarotto into the ground."

Once again, all Bulma did was laugh.  Maybe all the time spent staring at the computer screen was slowly driving her insane . . .  "It would be an interesting match, that's for sure . . . but what would you gain from it?  Son-kun isn't your enemy anymore; he wouldn't want to fight.  And even if you did beat him, what would the point be?"

Vegeta frowned.  He'd never actually considered what would happen _after_ Kakarotto was defeated.  It would be rather strange, that was certain . . . all those years, building up to one fight . . . when it was over, then what?  It was a disturbing idea.

Vegeta decided not to let it bother him — he'd come to that bridge when he crossed it, or cross the . . . no, wait . . . well, never mind.  Vegeta snorted inwardly.  Stupid Chikyuujin idioms . . .  "Why do you care, anyway?"

"I just think you're working too hard," Bulma stood up and put her mug in the sink, walking behind Vegeta to do so.  As she passed by she rested her hand on his shoulder for a second, then pulled back.  "Good heavens, Vegeta!  You're as tense as a spring!"

Vegeta had no response to that.  "What —"

Without warning, Bulma began kneading Vegeta's shoulder muscles with her hands.  "What are you doing?!" he bellowed.

"Keep it down, you'll wake my parents!"  Bulma slapped him lightly on the head.  "Relax, will you?  I'm just giving you a massage."

Instead of relaxing, however, Vegeta tensed up even more.  Bulma stopped for a minute, and a puzzled look crossed her face as she studied him.  There was an expression on Vegeta's face that she hadn't seen on him before — one of fear, and even vulnerability.  "What's the matter?"

Vegeta pulled slightly away from her, the expression still colouring his features. He reminded her of that of a dog who had been beaten so many times that he had forgotten what it was like to receive a gentle caress.  "Don't touch me," Vegeta's voice was low, almost pleading.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Bulma insisted, placing a hand lightly on Vegeta's shoulder again and feeling his muscles tighten further.  Something akin to pity began to make its way into Bulma's heart.  "Don't you trust me?"

Vegeta's breath was coming in low, shallow, almost-gasps, and Bulma got the sudden impression that he was thinking back to an event in his past.  "Get your hand off me."

"You don't have to be afraid, Vegeta," Bulma said quietly, though she wasn't sure why she said that.  Her hand moved, seemingly of its own volition, to rest gently on his cheek.  "I won't hurt you."

Vegeta closed his eyes, struggling with his inner demons, then his entire body shuddered and he spoke — so softly that Bulma had to strain to hear: "I know."

Slowly, Bulma moved her hands back to his shoulders, continuing the massage, though less forcefully this time.  Gradually Vegeta relaxed, and a smile crept across Bulma's face.

  


As the minutes slipped by, Bulma couldn't help staring at Vegeta's back; all across his shoulder blades, arms, and back were scars — some were the length of her hand, others longer.  She had seen them before, but had never taken much notice . . . now that she looked at them, Bulma realized that not all of them were battle wounds.  Some of them looked like they had been made by a whip, or something similar.  Without realizing what she was doing, Bulma traced a finger down the length of one of them.

Vegeta jumped.  "Don't do that," he hissed.

"Sorry," Bulma apologized hurriedly.  "I didn't know they still caused you pain."

"They don't."

"O," she paused a moment, half expecting Vegeta to leave.  When he didn't, Bulma gathered up her courage and pressed on.  "When did you get those scars?"

Vegeta sat up.  "When I was young," he replied gruffly.  He hoped his tone was curt enough that Bulma would take the hint and drop the subject.

No such luck.  "Who gave them to you?" Bulma inquired.  After waiting a few seconds without receiving any answer, she guessed, "Your father?"

Vegeta leaped to his feet and faced her, and his expression was livid.  "Who told you that?" he demanded.  

Bulma shrank back in fear.  "Nobody, I, I . . ."

"You assumed, did you?" Vegeta snarled.  "You thought that just because my father was King of Vegetasei and ruler of the most powerful empire in the universe, he would abuse his son.  I suppose you think he beat my mother, too?"

Bulma was surprised by Vegeta's outburst, but it also angered her.  "Well, look at my example!  Besides Son-kun, who doesn't count because he was raised on Chikyuu, you're the only full-blooded Saiyajin I've really known!  How could I not think your father would be the same way?"

Vegeta stepped close to her, and his eyes were smoldering with rage.  "Have I ever hit you, or Kakarotto's woman?  Except in battle, have I ever laid a hand on Kakarotto's brat?" Bulma shook her head.  "Just because I'm Saiyajin doesn't mean I cause pain whenever I feel like it!"

Something clicked in Bulma's brain.  "How about all those planets you talk about destroying?  What about the innocent people you killed then?" she challenged.

Vegeta's face contorted in anger.  "That's different!" he thundered.  "I was working for Furiza then!  Obviously I don't do that anymore!"

"And when Son-kun was on Yardrat and you killed every one of Furiza's henchmen you found?"

"They were loyal to him!  They would have eventually come to Chikyuu in search of me and Kakarotto, or your blasted Dragonballs, and then you would have had to kiss your planet goodbye!" Vegeta glared fiercely.  "I killed them because they were worthless.  They wouldn't believe that their master was dead, and they would have continued their killing sprees in his name."

It felt extremely strange to Vegeta to have to be justifying his actions, especially to this woman.  It was something he'd never had to do before, and he didn't like it.  A year ago he would have told her to shut up and be done with it, but now . . . now something had changed.  It was no longer enough to kill for the sake of killing; something was missing, and Bulma's accusations had made him begin to realize it.

_Someday you'll feel the emptiness, no matter how many you kill . . ._

Vegeta shook his head.  No!  He would not believe it.

  


_One day you'll understand . . ._

Bulma interrupted his thoughts.  "_Furiza_'s minions couldn't accept the facts? Look who's talking, buster!  You're the self-proclaimed Prince of the Saiyajin empire — think about it.  It's not something I would brag about.  The ruler of a dead race, one that was wiped out by Furiza — who was defeated by Son-kun, and again in one minute by that kid.  Your only 'subjects' are a fighter and his son, both of whom are three times as strong as you are!  Some accomplishment.  If that's not living in the past, Vegeta, I don't know what is."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Bulma knew she had gone too far.   There was always an invisible line in any argument, and Bulma knew she had just crossed this one.

Bulma's hand flew to her mouth.  "I'm sorry," she shook her head.  "I didn't mean it."

Vegeta snorted, but it was a hollow sound.  "Yes, you did," he replied, and his voice was dead.  Bulma forced herself to meet his gaze, and behind his normally cold eyes she saw pain flicker there.  He spun on his heel and left the house.

She stared after him indecisively for a few seconds, then ran out the door.  Vegeta was stalking back to the gravitational trainer, and Bulma followed him.  "Wait," she called.

Vegeta's shoulders hunched as he heard her voice, but he waited until she was directly behind him before speaking.  "You won the argument, woman . . . isn't that enough?" his tone was bitter; almost . . . betrayed.

"I'm sorry!" Bulma tried again.  "I wasn't thinking . . . it just slipped out."

"But that's what you believe," Vegeta pointed out angrily. "That's what you all believe!  That I'm living for an ideal that is dead. Am I right?"

Bulma hung her head.  "It's crossed my mind a few times," she admitted.

The Saiyajin's fists were clenched tightly at his sides.  "Have you any idea how difficult it is?" he shouted at her.  "Being the last of your kind, one of two and a half left in the universe?  Stripped of your title and heritage, and dumped on a planet of weaklings whose culture is completely alien to you . . . where, no matter how hard you try, your rival is always one step ahead of you.  Try going through that for a few years . . . _then_ you can criticize me for clinging to a 'stupid dream'.  I believe that's what you called it in the restaurant."

She tried looking him in the eye, but the guilt welled up inside her and she was unable to hold his gaze for long.  "I really am sorry," Bulma said quietly.

Vegeta slumped to the ramp of the gravitational trainer, and cautiously, Bulma sat beside him.  He completely ignored her, but at least he didn't order her to leave. All of a sudden, he began talking — whether to her or to himself, Bulma was unsure.  She listened anyway.  "Ever since I can remember," Vegeta didn't look at her as he spoke.  "I have spent my time trying to increase my power, to better myself.  That desire fills my soul . . . it runs through my veins instead of blood.  Now, it doesn't matter what I want or how hard I train . . . Kakarotto is always there.  He doesn't seem to _do_ anything; he is just always stronger.  It seems like the harder I train, the farther I am from my goal and the less enjoyment I get out of it."

Bulma could not think of anything to say.  How could she, when any words she could speak would sound empty and meaningless?  So, instead of talking, Bulma just took Vegeta's hand, lacing her fingers through his.  He didn't appear to notice at first, but then his fingers tightened over hers. "Son-kun admires you," she spoke up at last.  "I know he does.  He talks about you a lot."

"I don't want Kakarotto's admiration!" Vegeta burst forth.  "And I don't want your sympathy, either!"

  


"Then I won't give it to you," Bulma sighed.  "I know you don't like help or compliments, but for what it's worth . . . I think I understand some of what you're feeling, and I'll try to help you any way I can."

The Saiyajin Prince glanced at her sharply, but could see only truth and honesty in the woman's eyes.  He was tempted to slap her away, but for some reason he could not.  "How could you understand?" he snarled.

"I'm the richest woman in the world, the owner of Capsule Corporation . . . but what's the point of that?  Money isn't everything, as the old adage says.  There's something missing, and I don't know what it is.  It sounds to me like you're feeling the same thing.  Maybe we could help each other."

"What do you know," Vegeta demanded, but with less vehemence than he had intended.  The woman was right — her words struck a familiar chord inside him, but he didn't like this personal connection one bit.  "You can't help me.  This is something I must face alone."

"Why are you always so proud?" Bulma asked, shaking her head.  "One of the reasons Son-kun is so strong is that he lets his friends help him when he needs it.  He doesn't hide his emotions behind a mask of invincibility . . . why can't you see that showing how you feel doesn't make you weak?"

_Feelings don't weaken us, no matter what some might say. _

Vegeta thrust aside the inner voice, afraid of what it might make him do or say.  "You don't know what you're talking about," he informed her, but his tone wasn't insulting.

They sat in silence for some time, and finally Vegeta remarked, "I should get back to my training," at the same time that Bulma declared, "It's late . . . I need to get some sleep."

Neither of them made any move to leave.

******

The next morning, Dr. Briefs wandered outside in his house robe, his black cat perched on his shoulder.  "Nice day, isn't it, kitty?" he cooed, scratching the wide-eyed animal between the ears.

"Miaow . . ."

Bulma's father glanced at the cat.  "Hmm?  What was that?" the bespectacled scientist cast his gaze about his expansive property, then stopped short as he saw his daughter and their impossible lodger.  Both were asleep, propped against each other so that they were in a sitting position, and they appeared to be holding hands.  "Well, I'll be," Dr. Briefs scratched his head.  "I wonder what _else_ Bulma hasn't told me?  Well . . . I suppose it could be worse . . . that Yamucha boy could come for breakfast again today."

From the kitchen he heard the sound of his wife's high-pitched voice.  "Why, Yamucha!  So nice to see you!"

"Uh-oh . . ."

******

Bulma woke up to the sound of someone powering up and taking to the air.  Blinking groggily, she forced her eyes to focus on the energy trail of the person who was obviously in a great hurry to get away.  "Wow . . . I wonder what that was about?"

She shrugged.  "Probably some salesman Mom thought was cute and she scared him off," Bulma snorted.  "Wouldn't be the first time that's happened."

Vegeta shook himself suddenly and woke up.  "What the . . . ?" he muttered.

  


Bulma decided not to make a big deal of the conversation they'd had the night before.  "You want breakfast?" she asked.

"No," he grumbled.  "I wasted enough training time last night."

"That wasn't _all_ my fault," Bulma reminded him.  "You were talking, too . . . now come on, you're having breakfast."

"Don't tell me what to do," Vegeta grumped, but followed her anyway.  He _was_ hungry . . .

Bulma shook her head, smiling. "Okay, whatever you say."

Doctor and Mrs. Briefs were already at the table, the latter smiling pleasantly.  Bulma wondered idly if she ever looked serious . . . probably not.

"Good morning, you two," Mrs. Briefs greeted them, setting a huge plate of pancakes in front of Vegeta.  Bulma smiled, but Vegeta only grunted and started eating.  "Have a good sleep?"

"Yes, thanks," Bulma replied, shooting a warning glance at Vegeta, though he had no intention of saying otherwise.

"I didn't," the woman made a pouting face.  "I had a stomachache.  I heard you two go outside early this morning . . . what you were doing?  There were some funny noises coming from the gravitational whatsit."

Bulma paled.  "Uh . . . we were just talking, that's all."

Dr. Briefs looked at Bulma, a serious expression on his face.  "You missed Yamucha this morning," he studied her carefully, and nodded slowly when she paled noticeably.

"Y-Yamucha?" Bulma repeated.  She went to the stove and poured batter onto the griddle to hide her nervousness.

"Mm-hmm," her mother nodded, as always blissfully oblivious to the nuances of the situation.  "He came to have breakfast, as he sometimes does, you know . . . he asked where you were, and I told him you weren't in your bed when I got up."

Bulma yelped in surprise, because it could have been because she burned her hand on the skillet.  Abandoning her disastrous attempts of pancake making, Bulma returned to her seat.  

"Are you all right, dear? . . . Well, anyway," Mrs. Briefs continued.  "Yamucha went upstairs to see if he could find you, but he must have gotten confused — silly boy — because he went in _Vegeta_'s room!  Isn't that funny?" she giggled to herself, not noticing the aghast expressions on the faces of the two young adults at the table.

"And then Yamucha came back downstairs, looking like a thundercloud, asking where Vegeta was," Mrs. Briefs prattled on, "So I told him he had been training . . ." the blonde woman tilted her head to one side.  "O, yes.  I thought I'd be helpful, so I mentioned that the two of you went outside . . ."

"You said WHAT?!"

"That the two of you went outside and didn't come back in."

Vegeta got up from the table and stalked outside, and Bulma buried her head in her arms.  "Mom . . . did he ask why I went outside?"

Her mother thought for a minute.  "Come to think of it, as soon as I said I heard noises, the boy flew off.  I don't know why."

  


Bulma jumped to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor tiles as she shoved it back from the table.  "I've got to go see Yamucha.  Now," from outside came the sounds of the gravitational trainer starting up.

"Don't you want breakfast?"

"No, Mom," Bulma said hurriedly.  "I'll have something when I get back, okay?  'Bye!"

Mrs. Briefs looked at her husband, obviously confused.  "Do you know what's going on?"

"I'm afraid I do, my dear . . . I'm afraid I do."

******

They just keep setting themselves up, don't they! But poor Yamucha -- first the couch, now the Gravitational Trainer? What is he going to think? Will Bulma be able to straighten him out, or will the couple call it quits? Will Bulma and Vegeta overcome their embarrassment to talk to each other? 


	3. Awkwardness

Disclaimer: Not ... *sniff* ... m-mine .... WAHHH!!!!!! (bursts into tears)

**Chapter Three: Awkwardness**

Bulma parked her capsule jet at Master Rôshi's island and jumped out, running to the house.  She pushed open the door.  "Is Yamucha here?" Bulma asked.

Master Rôshi, Tenshinhan, Chaozu, Pu'ar, and Oolong stood looking at her.  All bore expressions that varied between anger and disappointment, and Master Rôshi's arms were crossed.  "Hello, Bulma," the old man's voice was flat.

Bulma's heart sank.  "Where's Yamucha?"

"Upstairs," Pu'ar, the flying cat who was Yamucha's constant companion, told her.  "Kuririn's trying to calm him down."

"What did you do to him?" Tenshinhan glared.  "I've never seen him this upset."

Brushing past them and heading for the stairs, Bulma ignored the question.  "I have to talk to him."

When she reached Yamucha's room, Bulma saw the door was closed.  From behind it she could hear Yamucha's voice.  "I don't get it, Kuririn, I just don't get it . . . what did I do to turn her away from me?  I can't help it if I'm not a Prince, but I always thought I was good enough for her.  I guess not."

"Don't talk that way," Kuririn sounded almost angry.  "Look, Yamucha, I've known Bulma almost as long as you have, and I know just as well as you do that she's a wonderful girl.  But if you're right about her and Vegeta, then she's not worth it."

Bulma sucked in her breath in surprise.  She'd always thought Kuririn was her friend . . .

"I'm not saying Bulma's a bad person," Kuririn cut in as Yamucha began to protest.  "I know she isn't . . . _but_ if she's decided to move on, don't beat yourself up about it.  You're a better person than Vegeta is, by far.  She doesn't know what she's missing."

"It's my fault," Yamucha's voice was hoarse, and Bulma wondered if he'd been crying.  "I know it is, even if Bulma doesn't realize it.  I've abandoned her to train, I've forgotten her birthday and our anniversary . . . I even went with another woman once, even though we didn't go nearly as far as Bulma thought we had.  I've been jealous and suspicious of her with Vegeta . . . all this time I've been pushing her away, and now it's too late.  It's my fault, and now it's too late for me to bring her back."

Bulma blinked back sudden tears.  Yamucha had it all wrong — and it was all her fault!  She knocked on the door.

Kuririn answered, and the diminutive, bald monk looked uncomfortable when he saw her.  "Hi, Bulma," he mumbled.  "I don't know if he really wants to talk to you . . ."

  


Yamucha was sitting on his bed, face buried in his hands, but when he heard Bulma's voice he looked up.  "No, it's okay, Kuririn.  She can come in."

Kuririn seemed dubious, but he left.

Bulma entered the room cautiously and sat beside him on the bed, hearing the springs creak and feeling the mattress give between her weight.  "What Mom said . . . that isn't what happened."

Yamucha snorted.  "Uh-huh, okay . . ." he ticked off points on his fingers.  "You've been working on a program for four days, and you decide to go to bed.  Vegeta comes inside, your mother says, and later you both go outside.  Your mother hears 'funny noises' coming from the gravitational trainer.  The next morning, neither you nor Vegeta are in your beds.  Tell me, what was I supposed to think?"

She looked away.  Over the years she'd accused Yamucha of cheating with far less evidence to go by.  "I know that's what it looked like, but . . ." Bulma explained briefly what happened, though she left out the details of the conversations.

Yamucha just sighed when Bulma finished.  "How many times, Bulma?  How many times are you and Vegeta going to have these 'accidents'?  I trust you and respect you, but it's only fair that you show me a little more respect in return, isn't it?  Even if — _if_ — you're right and there isn't anything concrete between you two, I still don't think you're being completely honest with me — or yourself."

Bulma wasn't really listening — somewhere through Yamucha's dialogue she had begun thinking of how Vegeta's face had changed during their talk . . . almost as if there was a little boy inside him, struggling to get out . . .  Suddenly, Bulma became aware that Yamucha had stopped speaking, and was looking at her sadly.  "What was that?" she asked, embarrassed.

"I thought so," he mumbled to himself, then he caught Bulma's gaze and held it.  She squirmed, uncomfortable, but was unable to look away. "Bulma, be completely honest, now.  Can you tell me that you don't have _any_ feelings for Vegeta at all?"

"Of course I —" Bulma began hotly, feeling indignant, but she stopped.  She thought back to the times when Vegeta had been almost civil to her . . . when he lashed out at her in defense of his father . . . how, when she had woken up that morning sitting beside him, she'd had the strangest feeling that it was the safest place to be . . .

Yamucha caught the expression that crossed Bulma's face, and right then, he knew — even if Bulma hadn't yet figured it out.  He smiled sadly and placed a hand on her shoulder.  Bulma jumped, startled.  "I just don't think I could handle too many more 'accidents' like that, okay?" Yamucha shook his head.  "I'm really sorry, but there's only so much hurt I can take.  I think it's best if we try separating, at least until you work out whatever it is that's bothering you.  After that, we'll see."

_What are you doing, Yamucha?_ his mind screamed at him.  _Don't do it!  She's not gonna' fall into your arms and beg you to change your mind . . . you're going to lose her!_

_I don't own her,_ Yamucha argued with himself.  _I have to give her the choice.  It isn't fair otherwise._

Bulma nodded slowly, realizing he was right.  "Yeah . . . I don't want to do this, Yamucha, but I think it would be the best thing.  For both of us."

Yamucha bit back a sigh.  He'd been hoping, up until the last second, that a miracle would occur; that Bulma would declare she had no feelings for Vegeta, that of _course_ she didn't want to break up.  But these were childish thoughts, he knew.  _It's true,_ Yamucha thought, _Nice guys do finish last . . . and Bulma always did go for the bad boys . . ._

Standing up, Yamucha gave Bulma a hug and stepped back, letting her leave.  "I just want you to know I'm not angry," he told her, "It's your life."

  


"Thanks," Bulma turned to go, but halfway to the door she stopped and glanced over her shoulder.  "We're still friends, right?"

Yamucha manufactured a cheerful smile, though all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her, to tell her that he loved her and he didn't want to lose her . . . but then he remembered the look on Bulma's face when he mentioned Vegeta, and all his hopes died.  "Of course we are!  I don't want to lose my best friend over something as silly as a breakup."

Bulma's smile was so bright it seemed to rival the sun for dominance of the sky, and Yamucha knew, somehow, that he had made the right decision.  "I'm glad.  I'll see you later, then. Maybe things will work out."

"Even if they don't, I'll always be here if you need me," Yamucha raised a hand in farewell.  "See you later."

As soon as she left, Yamucha went downstairs slowly.  The others were watching him.  "Is it over?" Tenshinhan asked

Yamucha looked at him, and suddenly found himself smiling, genuinely this time.  "No . . . we broke up, but we're still friends."

Tenshinhan appeared relieved.  "Well, that's good.  Bulma would never want to hurt you — not on purpose."

"I know," Yamucha watched through the window as Bulma's capsule jet took of.  "But all I have to say is, Vegeta'd better treat her like the princess she is — or I don't care how strong Vegeta may be, I'll find some way to hurt him . . ."

******

Not quite three weeks after the night on the GT's front step, Vegeta finished his 500th one-finger pushup at 450 times Chikyuu's normal gravity.  It was getting too easy — he'd have to get Bulma's father to update the trainer.

_Bulma_'s father?  Since when did he think of the woman as "Bulma?"  Vegeta growled to himself.  The woman was like a disease, invading his thought processes with the persistence of the hardiest of viruses.  "Go away!" he shouted, though he knew Bulma was nowhere near.  

The Saiyajin threw all his efforts into training, matching his powers against the new training drones Dr. Briefs had provided him.  The power crackled beneath his skin, running through his veins like electric current.  Vegeta grinned to himself.  It was almost intoxicating . . .

Within seconds he obliterated all of the robots — but instead of powering down, Vegeta kept going.  Each time he felt his energy had reached its highest point, Vegeta forced it to go higher.  Muscles straining with the effort, Vegeta released all his power at once — so intense was the result that pieces of the ceiling began falling, only to be disintegrated when they touched the flaming aura surrounding him.

_Almost . . . there . . ._ Vegeta thought to himself — 

— suddenly, the entire gravitational trainer collapsed.

******

Bulma wandered outside just in time to see the GT explode.  "Vegeta!" she yelled, feeling her heart leap into her throat.  The last time this happened, Vegeta had remained unconscious for days . . .

The smoke cleared, and to her immense relief Bulma could see Vegeta standing in the middle of the pile of rubble.  Blood was oozing from several deep gashes all over his body and he looked more than a little unsteady on his feet, but at least he was conscious.  Bulma ran to support him. "You've got to stop doing this," she chided him, putting an arm around his waist.

  


Vegeta coughed a few times and glared at him, but slung his arm over her shoulder to keep from falling.  "If it wasn't for your stupid, inadequate machine, I would have made Super Saiyajin by now."

"Well, sor-ry," Bulma rolled her eyes.  "I'll upgrade the GT later . . . right now you need to rest."

"I'm fine," Vegeta grunted, then Bulma's hand touched one of the gashes and he had to bite off a yell of pain.

Bulma glanced at him worriedly.  "If this is 'fine' I'd hate to see you injured!  Come on, I'm not gonna' make you stay in bed for a week this time — I'm just going to put some bandages on you before you bleed to death."

"Melodramatic woman," Vegeta muttered, but in a way he enjoyed the woman's concern.  Back when he was younger, getting wounded in this manner would have gotten him a reprimand, or even another beating.  Here, the woman was actually worried about him.

He looked at her out the corner of his eye, noticing how her eyes were crinkled at the corners with concern, and the consternation on her features tightened the lines of her face.  Her odd-colored hair tickled Vegeta's nose, making him want to sneeze, and he raised a hand to push it away.

Bulma turned to look at him, and their eyes met for a second before a flustered Vegeta dropped his gaze to his feet.  Bulma gave a small, embarrassed cough.

She led him inside the house and got a capsulized first-aid kit from the bathroom while Vegeta propped himself up against the sink.  Bulma bit her lip.  "I'm not sure where to put you . . . Mom will have a fit if you bleed on any of her furniture . . ." she paused uncertainly for a second, then shrugged.  "C'mon, we'll go in my room."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow, and Bulma snorted.  "I'm not trying to seduce you, Mr. Ego.  Honestly!"

"Good," Vegeta tried to stand, but had to grab her arm as his knees gave way.  "Because I wouldn't be in the mood anyway."

Bulma laughed.  "I'll make a note of that — 'useless to try to sleep with Vegeta if the GT just exploded'."

"Remember that," he shook a finger in her face, but Bulma could see the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

They sat on the bed, and Bulma began daubing antiseptic on the gashes, ignoring Vegeta's insistence that he wasn't going to become infected.  ("Saiyajins don't get infections!"  "They don't get heart viruses, either, but Son-kun's going to.") By the time she had cleaned three wounds Bulma had Vegeta's blood all over her bedspread and clothing, but she didn't care.

It took the better part of an hour and a half for Bulma to clean the various lacerations, and by the end Vegeta was beginning to get uncomfortable, with the woman invading his personal space.  He tried concentrating on the pain from all his injuries, but his attention kept drifting to Bulma.  It was extremely annoying at first, but after a time Vegeta got used to it.  Bulma began working on a particularly nasty shrapnel wound on Vegeta's forehead, and Vegeta watched her face — she was frowning, from concentration, worry, or a combination of both. 

It was funny — Vegeta had never noticed how blue the woman's eyes were.  No one on Vegetasei had blue eyes . . . or if the person had, he would have been considered an outcast.  Now that he thought about it, however, the more Vegeta decided he liked the color . . .

All of a sudden, Vegeta realized the eyes were looking back at him.  He jumped, annoyed that the woman had caught him staring at her.  For some reason, even though both of them were clearly embarrassed, neither of them looked away.  Compelled by a force he did not understand, Vegeta leaned closer.  His lips just barely brushed hers — 

"O, _there_ you two are!  I've been looking for you _everywhere_!"

  


"Mother!!" Bulma shrieked, after jumping a mile high.  Vegeta fought the urge to cover his ears.  "Don't you ever _knock_?"

"The door was open, dear," Mrs. Briefs replied amiably, "What are you doing, anyway?"

Bulma started wrapping the last bandage on Vegeta's shoulder.  "Vegeta blew up the GT again, and I was just fixing him up," her hands shook, and Vegeta reached up to finish pinning it himself.  "Did you want to talk to me, Mother?"

"Yes, actually . . ." Bulma's mother patted her blonde hair, which was piled on top of her head.  "That Master Rôshi fellow called just now, and he's having a party tonight.  We're all invited — even you, Vegeta.  Will you come?"

"Yes, we will," Bulma replied, just as Vegeta retorted, "I don't think so!"

Bulma shot him her famous "look," under which even Goku had been known to crumble.  Vegeta, however, scowled back, and Mrs. Briefs watched, amused.  For the first time it seemed the two strongest wills on the planet had found their match. "You're in no condition to train for at least two or three days," Bulma pointed out.  "You might as well come."

Vegeta snorted.  "I'm perfectly fine," he scoffed, but Bulma deflated that idea by poking the bandage that covered his chest, causing Vegeta to wince.  "So maybe I'm a little tired!"

Bulma tilted her head.  "Come on, Vegeta, it would be fun!  You wouldn't have to talk to anyone; you could just stay by the refreshments and scarf down the hors d'oeuvres."

"I could do that here," the Saiyajin pointed out.  "Why would I need to go?"

She made a face.  "Please?  It would be nice to have someone to go with."

"Now the real reason comes out!" Vegeta couldn't help but grin.  "You're desperate!  You broke up with your mate, didn't you!"

Bulma's face reddened.  "That was almost three weeks ago; where have you been?  And he broke up with me, okay?  I'm not trying to make him jealous or anything, since it was my fault.  We're still friends, so there aren't any ulterior motives."

Vegeta cocked an eyebrow.  "Really . . ."

"Really!  Is it so hard to believe that I want you to come with me as a friend?"

"Yes," he crossed his arms.  "You hate me."

"No, I don't," Bulma blushed when Vegeta reminded her of several occasions where she had vociferously stated otherwise.  "Well, I don't really . . . and you never know.  You might end up having fun."

Vegeta shook his head.  "That is definitely not a possibility," he uncrossed his arms.  "Fine, I'll go, but only if you'll shut up."

A very Vegeta-like smirk crossed Bulma's face, for she knew perfectly well Vegeta was just making excuses.  "Okay," winked at him, letting him know what she was thinking.

"Listen —" Vegeta began, but it was all he managed to say before Bulma shoved him out of the room.

"I have to change," Bulma informed Vegeta when he looked at her strangely, then she gave him an appraising glance, taking in his tattered and bloodstained pants.  "You might wanna' get out of that outfit, too."

  


Vegeta shrugged as Bulma shut the door in his face, then he suddenly thought back to  before the appearance of Mrs. Briefs, and he nearly fell over in shock.  He had almost kissed her!  He, Prince of Saiyajins, nearly kissing that . . . that . . . that annoying human!  His father would probably have suffered the first-ever Saiyajin heart attack, if he were alive.

Or maybe not.  Bulma may not have any fighting capabilities, but she had the intelligence and determination of any Saiyajin Vegeta had known.  Couple that with her beauty and ability to stand up to him, and that made for a very interesting woman.  

Vegeta's eyes widened.  "I don't believe this," he muttered, stomping back into his room to change into a black training jumpsuit.  "Could I be . . . falling for . . . no!  I'm Saiyajin!" Vegeta grimaced.  Kakarotto was Saiyajin, and he was married — though Vegeta wouldn't want that ChiChi woman for a mate, despite all the positive things Kakarotto could say about her.  Any woman who could pull a frying pan out of nowhere to smash the skulls of unsuspecting victims was someone to avoid, in Vegeta's books.  _I'll stick with Bulma, thank you_, he thought.

Stick with Bulma . . . had he actually _said_ that?  "Arrrgghhh . . ." Vegeta growled.  "Why me?  Why did the stupid woman have to break up with her mate?!"

He couldn't be sure, but Vegeta thought he could hear his father laughing . . .

******

It was nearly half an hour later when Bulma finally graced them with her presence, calling, "I'm readeeeeee!!" down the hallway.  Vegeta, who was sitting on the sofa in the living room, winced.

"What took you so long?" he barked.  Having to listen to Bulma's mother babble on about how happy she was he was coming, was almost more than the Saiyajin could stand.

"Long?" Bulma pouted, coming into view.  "I _tried_ to hurry!"

Vegeta glanced at her, then did a double-take.  The woman was wearing a dark blue, sleeveless dress, fairly tight-fitting as per her usual style, with the skirt falling to her knees.  Her short hair was pinned up, with strands hanging around her face.  As much as he hated to admit it, Vegeta grudgingly conceded that the woman looked good.

Bulma caught where his gaze was directed, and she grinned inwardly.  Take that, Saiyajin arrogance — the Prince was checking her out!  Not some Saiyajin princess — Briefs Bulma, a so-called "lowly human."  She snickered.  "Hey, Vegeta," she called, unable to resist.  "You're sta-a-aring."

"I am not!!" Vegeta expostulated.  He was horrified to feel his face reddening. "Your ego is out of control, that's all.  Are we going, or not?"

The blasted woman giggled to herself all the way to the hover jet.

During the ride to Master Rôshi's island, Bulma and Vegeta sat beside each other on the passenger bench.  Bulma kept sneaking glances at Vegeta out the corner of her eyes — it was obvious he was trying not to stare.  Finally, Bulma couldn't stand it any longer.  "What is your problem?" she demanded.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Vegeta huffed, glad that the woman's parents were engrossed in their own conversation and weren't paying attention to the back seat.

"Yes, you do," Bulma challenged.  "You start to look at me, then you catch yourself and stare straight ahead again," she swivelled sideways in the seat, her knees brushing his.  "Why don't you just take a good, long look and get it over with?"

  


Vegeta did glance at her, but made sure he had his most scathing expression on his face.  "Why would I want to do that?  You are ugly.  That dress is ugly.  Your voice is annoying, and the only reason I agreed to come is so I wouldn't have to listen to you. It's only your arrogance that is reading anything else into it.  Now leave me alone," with that, he deliberately turned to look out the window.  He toyed with the idea of moving to the bench across the aisle, but decided against it.

Bulma frowned.  She thought there was something Vegeta wasn't telling, but she couldn't be sure . . . "Whatever, Vegeta," she folded her arms.  "I don't know why you can't admit that I'm not as bad as you used to think I was, but I wish you'd knock it off.  And you know what?  Someday you're going to fall for some girl, and then I'll laugh at you.  You hear me?  I will laugh!"

"Are you done?" Vegeta kept his gaze focused at the scenery out the window.  "I don't care."

Bulma growled to herself, but didn't continue the argument.  It was pointless to fight with him when he was in this mood.

The rest of the ride was peaceful and quiet.

******

Whoa ... things got a little close there, huh? Good thing Mrs. Briefs happened to barge in then (or was it? Hmm...)! Will Vegeta manage to loosen up at the party, or will he be his usual antisocial self? How will Yamucha cope with the breakup? And wait ... don't parties usually have . . . dancing?


	4. Confession

Disclaimer: DB/Z/GT do not belong to me. I'm not fluent in Japanese, for one thing -- wouldn't that prove to be rather difficult?   
  
****

**Chapter Four: Confession**

By the time they reached Kame House, most people were already there.  Vegeta glanced around, hoping against hope that Kakarotto was . . . no, there he was, hastily devouring everything on the refreshment tables.  Vegeta winced — he was hungry, but not enough to endure conversing with — 

"Go on," Bulma shoved him lightly. "I know what you're thinking . . . just ignore Son-kun and get some food before he eats it all."

Vegeta decided to take her advice, and he walked over to the food table.  "Hey, Vegeta," Kuririn greeted him, but the Saiyajin gave him a dirty look and moved on.  "Whoa, okay . . ." the human muttered.

Kakarotto looked up from his plate, food all over his face.  The sight almost made Vegeta lose his appetite.  "Hi there, Vegeta!"  Kakarotto called, somewhat indistinctly around the enormous mouthful of chicken he was consuming.  "What's up?"

"Nothing concerning you," Vegeta replied curtly, piling up his own plate.

Kakarotto stopped eating for a second and eyed the bandages.  "Don't go overboard . . . you don't wanna' hurt yourself again."

Vegeta's only response was a snarl.  Unlike his lower-class associate, Vegeta didn't talk with his mouth full.  "I'm fine," he shot back when he had swallowed.  "Nothing I can't handle."

"Nothing ever is, is it?" Kakarotto pointed out.  Vegeta couldn't tell whether he was being sarcastic or not.  With Kakarotto, it was hard to tell.  Kakarotto looked around quickly, and when he saw no one watching, wiped his mouth on the tablecloth.  "If you're up to it, do you want to spar?"

Before Vegeta could reply, a warning voice came from behind Kakarotto.  "Goku . . ."

Kakarotto's eyes widened, and he turned around slowly to come face-to-face with his mate.  "Aw, ChiChi . . . just a little spar?  Please?"

The dark-haired woman shook her head.  "It's a party, you dunce!  You can spar with Vegeta anytime.  Now come on, let's go talk to people."

Kakarotto sighed.  "Yes, dear," the woman grabbed his hand and pulled him away, and Kakarotto mouthed 'Sorry'.

  


Vegeta just shrugged and went back to his food.  Kakarotto would probably escape his mate's clutches at some time during the night, and they could spar then.

He glanced around the island, watching as the pathetic Chikyuujin engaged in their own, petty conversations.  Kakarotto and his wife were talking with Kuririn, Yamucha, Tenshinhan, and Chaozu were conversing amongst themselves . . . and Bulma, for whatever reason, was speaking to the old man Rôshi and his irritating talking pig.  Vegeta watched with detached amusement as the lecherous animal attempted to pinch Bulma in the behind — and got splatted against the wall for his efforts.  Rôshi hurriedly bade "good evening" to Bulma and rushed over to talk to someone of less volatile temperament.  Bulma caught Vegeta's gaze and flashed him a victory sign with her fingers.

Vegeta's mouth twitched, and he turned away before he displayed any sign of approval.  Just then his gaze fell on the Namekusejin and Kakarotto's brat, who were standing apart from the others under ChiChi's watchful stare, apparently discussing Gohan's studies.  As soon as the woman's attentions were directed elsewhere, however, Piccolo punched the boy and sent him flying.  Grinning widely, the brat scrambled to his feet and ran back, where he began a series of ineffectual punches and kicks.  This discreet sparring, which paused whenever the boy's mother looked their way, almost made Vegeta smile before he caught himself.  Half-human though he was, Kakarotto's whelp certainly had the Saiyajin fighting spirit.

Vegeta heard footsteps from behind him, and he sensed the woman's energy before she spoke to him.  "Well, if it isn't Mr. Fun himself," Bulma chuckled to herself, and she came to stand beside him.  "This happens every time we get together . . .  you always stand away from everyone else and watch us.  Doesn't that get boring after a while?"

"Not if there's food," he retorted.

Bulma sighed. "Yeah, that's right.  I forgot about that . . . but it still seems pretty pointless to me."

"You're not me."

"Thank Kami-sama for that!"

By the time night had fallen, Master Rôshi's entire food supply — along with Bulma's patience — had been exhausted.  The old man turned on the garden lights and put on music.  "Time to get jiggy with it!" he yelled, and began cavorting around the island, performing "dance moves" that looked remarkably like the aerobics he watched every morning.

"This is so embarrassing," Bulma covered her face with her hand, but couldn't stop herself from giggling.  Master Rôshi really was funny . . . he honestly didn't care if others thought he was ridiculous, even though they usually did.

ChiChi pulled Goku to the area of the lawn marked off as the dance floor, and Bulma watched as they began to dance.  She hadn't realized that Goku knew anything about dancing, but it was obvious that ChiChi had taught him something.  Master Rôshi was still "grooving away" by himself, and a laughing Kuririn and Tenshinhan went to join him.

Bulma walked over to Yamucha.  "Hey," she smiled.  "Wanna' dance?"

"Yeah, sure," he took her hand and they joined the others.

"How are you?" Bulma inquired.  "I didn't want to ask with everyone else around."

Yamucha shrugged. "I'm surviving," he raised an eyebrow.  "You want to talk about Vegeta?"

"O, _him_," Bulma's face reddened.  "I'm still kinda' confused . . . I don't really know what I'm feeling.  Sometimes I . . . O, I don't know!"

"Well . . ." Yamucha scratched his head.  "What's he like?"

  


"Sometimes he's actually civil," Bulma told him.  "Maybe you don't believe me, but he can be pretty nice to me," she sighed and glanced over at the Saiyajin Prince, who was watching everyone with distaste.  "Like . . . the other day the two of us actually had a normal conversation, without any insults, or blowing up at each other . . ." a frown crossed her face.  "But other time he's antagonistic and proud, and I can't say two words without him jumping down my throat!"

"Sounds to me like Vegeta's just as confused as you are," Yamucha observed.

Bulma brightened.  "Really? You think so?"

"Yep, I do," Yamucha shook his head, a bemused expression on his face.  "I never thought I'd see the day when I would help you get another boyfriend."

Bulma sighed.  "I'm sorry it was my fault we broke up . . . I wish . . ."

He held up a hand.  "Bulma . . . what's happened has happened, okay?  I'm just glad we're still friends."

Bulma nodded.  "Yeah, me too."

*

Vegeta made a face as he let his gaze wander over the crowd.  Kakarotto and his mate were dancing slowly, the woman with her head on Kakarotto's chest and her eyes closed, and Kakarotto with a huge, goofy smile on his face, arms around ChiChi's waist.  Vegeta grimaced.  Shows of public affection were . . . well, strange.  After his upbringing it was bizarre to see couples exhibiting any sign of closeness, even if it was as little as Kakarotto and his mate were displaying.  Kakarotto said something that made ChiChi laugh, and the woman punched him lightly on the jaw.  _That's disgusting, Kakarotto_ . . . Vegeta thought.

The pesky warrior must have been using his telepathy technique, for he looked over at Vegeta and grinned.  _Heh . . ._ Kakarotto replied, _Someday you'll see._

_No matter how many you kill . . ._

_You'll feel the emptiness . . ._

Vegeta scowled and turned away, but he could feel Kakarotto's laughter.  Looking around, Vegeta saw Bulma and Yamucha dancing much like Kakarotto and his mate, only not as closely.  For some reason the sight made Vegeta angry; more than anything he wanted to march over there and sock Yamucha, hard enough to send him through a few buildings.

Just then, Yamucha led Bulma over to him.  "Uh, hey . . ." the human was extremely nervous.  "I'm gettin' tired . . . you think you can take over, Vegeta?"

The Saiyajin's eyes widened, but before he could say anything Yamucha ran off to sit under a tree.  Bulma cleared her throat apprehensively, and Vegeta just stared at her.  "Now what?" he demanded.

Bulma shrugged.  "I think you're supposed to dance with me . . . unless you're scared."

Vegeta's eyebrows skyrocketed.  "Scared?"

"That's just what everybody's saying."

_Kakarotto probably started that, darn him!_  Vegeta clenched his fists spasmodically, then grabbed Bulma's hand, though he had no clue what to do next.  "Scared!  I'll show them scared!  The Prince of Saiyajins isn't afraid of anything."

  


Bulma had to suppress a grin of triumph.  _Yamucha was right . . . it worked!_  She took Vegeta's other hand and placed it on her waist, then instructed him to follow her lead.  "This isn't so bad, is it?" she asked him a few minutes later, praying for a positive response.

"Nothing to be afraid of," Vegeta snorted.  "Your friends are stupid."

Bulma said nothing after that for a while, instead delighting in the fact that neither of them were yelling at each other.  Vegeta actually looked like he might almost be enjoying himself, which was yet another milestone . . .

*

"You okay, Yamucha?" Kuririn came to sit beside the scarred warrior, who was gazing out at Bulma and Vegeta.

Yamucha shook himself.  "What?  O, yeah . . . I guess so," he groaned and gestured at the couple. "They look like they belong together, don't they.  Boy, does that make me jealous . . ."

Kuririn wasn't sure what to say to this one. "Look, I'm sorry."

"Don't be.  Nah, I never really stood a chance as soon as Vegeta came along.  But I don't hate him.  I thought I would, but I guess I'm too happy that Bulma's found that 'special somebody' to want to ruin it just because I'm jealous," he shook his head.  "Never thought I'd ever hear myself saying that."

Kuririn nodded sympathetically and punched Yamucha's shoulder.  "Hey, I know how you feel.  I had to give up Maron, remember?"

"O yeah," Yamucha winced.  "Maron . . . I guess we're cursed, huh, Kuririn?  Destined to be bachelors forever."

"Yup," Kuririn grimaced.  "Us, and Master Rôshi . . . aw, man!  Why do Saiyajins get all the luck?"

The two of them laughed for a minute until a deep voice cut through their conversation.  "Why did you do it?"

"Huh?"  Yamucha turned to see Piccolo, who was sitting beneath the next tree.

"I heard what you said to her earlier," the Namekusejin frowned.  "She was your . . . girlfriend, but you're helping her get together with Vegeta.  Why?"

"I dunno . . . I just know when I'm beat, I guess.  I think Vegeta's better for her anyway."

Piccolo's eyebrow ridges rose.  "Really.  Vegeta may be stronger, but at least you don't have to turn sideways to fit your ego through the door."

Yamucha gestured helplessly.  "I can't help it if you don't get it!"

"You're right.  I don't."

Yamucha wracked his brains to come up with something with which Piccolo could identify, and finally he snapped his fingers in triumph.  "Got it!  It's like you and Gohan."

Piccolo looked down at the boy.  It was past Gohan's bedtime, and the small boy had fallen asleep, his head on Piccolo's lap.  "What about him?" there was something protective and suspicious about his tone.

"Well, I know how important the kid is to you," Yamucha explained.  "Imagine that one day you realized you couldn't teach Gohan anything new . . . that he would end up going nowhere if he stayed with you.  _Now_ pretend you found someone who could do a lot more for Gohan than you ever could."

"Not likely," Piccolo snorted.

  


"Come on, work with me!" Yamucha rolled his eyes.  "I'm not saying it's true for you, but it's the closest comparison I could think of.  Now, _if_ you found Gohan a better mentor, what would you do?"

The Namekusejin nodded slowly.  "I see . . . I'd give him up, because that would be what's best for him," Piccolo ruffled Gohan's unruly hair, and the boy smiled in his sleep.  "If that's what you're going through, then I give you my condolences."

Yamucha smiled shakily.  "Thanks . . . let's just hope I've done the right thing."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Piccolo pointed out, leaning against the tree and closing his eyes.  "Son's known Bulma longer than you have . . . if Vegeta makes one wrong move, I bet Son will pound him."

*

Vegeta hated to admit it, but dancing with Bulma was nowhere near as horrible as he'd anticipated it to be. Better still, no one laughed or pointed fingers at him, either . . . though Kakarotto had an irksome, knowing smile on his face, but Vegeta ignored him.  It was strange — extremely strange — but somehow, walking around with this woman made him feel almost as good as when he was training.

"Aren't they pretty?" Bulma spoke up.

"Aren't what pretty?"

Bulma jerked her chin up toward the sky.  "The stars . . . they're so beautiful!  It's like seeing millions upon millions of fireflies, thrown up into the air . . . it's so peaceful.  I've loved watching the stars, ever since I was a little girl."

Vegeta frowned.  He'd never thought of the stars that way . . .  "I've watched them since I was young as well, but not for their beauty.  I thought of them as places to conquer, or worlds I had taken over or destroyed already.  My father told me once that I would rule every star I could see."

"O," Bulma gave a little shrug.  "So try looking at them just as a wonder of the galaxy.  Aren't they the most beautiful things you've ever seen?"

Vegeta wasn't paying attention to the stars — he was looking at Bulma, who was staring up at the sky with rapt fascination.  Her blue eyes sparkled with the reflections of the stars, and it was then that all the odd feelings that had been tugging at Vegeta suddenly fell into place.  "Not really," he replied.  __

_Aughh!_ was his instant thought, _You weakling!  Now what is the stupid woman going to think of you?  You _fool_, what is wrong with you?_

Bulma dropped her gaze, eyes boring into his. A slight flush colored her cheeks, and a small smile crossed her face.  "Thanks," she said quietly, then without warning she let go of Vegeta's hands and slid her arms around his neck.  Startled and unsure of what he was supposed to do, Vegeta, without thinking, glanced at Kakarotto questioningly.

The third-class Saiyajin smiled a little, and he indicated how he was dancing with ChiChi.  Swallowing his pride at the look on Kakarotto's face, Vegeta imitated him and encircled Bulma's waist with his arms, inadvertently drawing her closer to him.  Bulma rested her head on his wounded shoulder, and although it hurt, he didn't care in the least.  For the first time in his life, the empty, gnawing space inside him had been filled.

"Vegeta?" Bulma's tone was at once nervous and hopeful.

"What?"

"What's happening?" Bulma sounded confused.  "One day I was Yamucha's girlfriend . . . then all of a sudden . . ."

  


"I don't know," Vegeta replied, for once being completely honest without using any sarcasm.  "But I know what you're talking about.  It's like I finally . . ." he paused, knowing that if he continued, he risked laying his entire self out in the open; that he risked rejection and the loss of his pride.  This, for some reason, he feared even more than death. ". . . arrghh, I don't _know_!  I've never felt like this before.  But . . . it has to do with you."

Bulma raised her head, her expression one of hardly-dared-for hope. "And you don't mind?"

Vegeta snorted.  "Believe me, I've tried minding, and it didn't help.  You're a virus, woman . . . you're everywhere, even inside my head.  You just won't go away!"

She chuckled.  "I know the feeling . . ." her mouth curved up in a crooked grin.  "So now we both have a disease that is obviously contagious . . . what now?"

Vegeta couldn't help but grin back . . . and the next thing he knew, he was kissing her — or she was kissing him, or both. Not that it mattered.  Fire seemed to race through his veins, igniting feelings within him that had remained dormant his entire warrior's life.  He felt Bulma collapse a little as her knees buckled, and he pulled her even closer, supporting her.  Funny, but now, everything his father had told him that day made perfect sense.  

For the first time, Vegeta didn't care what race he was, what others would think, or who was watching.  He was doing what _he_ wanted, and to blazes with anyone who tried to make fun of him.  But no one did.

It felt great.

"You lied," Vegeta declared a minute or so later.  He hadn't wanted the moment to end, but his oxygen-starved lungs had disagreed.  

Bulma obviously had no idea what he was talking about.  "What? When?"

"In the hover jet you said you would laugh if I . . . well, you know," Vegeta lifted an eyebrow, and he pushed a strand of Bulma's hair behind her ear.  "You aren't laughing."

Bulma stared at him for a few seconds, then she shook her head, holding back a grin.  "You moron . . . shut up.  Just shut up."

It was a while before either of them said anything again.  In the background, Yamucha gave a sad smile.

******

Finally! They did it! This chapter was hard to write, because I was trying so hard to keep Vegeta in character. And it's my personal opinion that, with all his life battling, Vegeta would not learn how to dance, especially with women. Hence, asking 'Kakarotto' how to dance with Bulma (plus, that's kind of cute...). Only the Epilogue, then it's all over, folks. It's been fun! ^^


	5. Epilogue: Family

Disclaimer: DB/Z/GT do not belong to me. I am not even worthy to lace the sandals of the honorary Toriyama-sensei (and no fooling!)   
  


**Epilogue: Family**

"Ms. Briefs . . . Ms. Briefs?  Your son is fine.  Would you like to hold him now?"

"Shut up, you idiot.  Can't you see she's sleeping?  Leave her alone and give the brat to me."

Groggily, Bulma moaned and tried to open her eyes, but she was too exhausted.  She was hot, tired, and sore.  _Especially_ sore.  She felt a hand brush her sweaty bangs off her forehead, and a gruff voice asked, "Are you awake now?"

Bulma forced her eyes to open, and she blinked a few times to clear her vision.  When she could finally see, an image of Vegeta swam up before her.  He was holding a small, blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms, and with that everything came rushing back.

"It's a boy," Vegeta announced, looking at the tiny creature he held, whom he had helped to create.  It was, perhaps, one of the only pure things to come out of his life . . .  "It's hardly stopped wailing since it got here, too . . . it certainly has your lungs."

  


"He, not 'it'," she scolded.  Bulma pushed herself to a sitting position and held out her arms.  "Let me see him," she begged.

Vegeta willingly handed the baby over, and Bulma took him in her arms.  She unwrapped the blanket and stared with joy at the perfect, sleeping infant, marveling that he was half hers. He had wispy, lavender hair, and he frowned in his sleep — just like his father did.  His small, furred tail reached up and coiled around Bulma's wrist, and she smiled.  She ran a finger down the child's face, caressing him gently.  "He's beautiful," she whispered.

Bulma looked up, tears in her eyes. "He looks like you," she remarked.

Vegeta made a face.  "I hope I don't look like that!" he retorted, but his expression softened a little.  "What are you going to call i — him?"

Bulma thought for a minute.  "How about Vegeta?"

The Saiyajin shook his head vehemently.  "Definitely not. It was bad enough sharing my father's name."

Bulma's mouth twitched.  "I should have guessed . . . O, I know.  Trunks!"

"'Trunks'?" Vegeta repeated incredulously.  "Trunks Briefs?  What is it with your family's fixation with undergarments?"

Bulma tried to glare, but she was too happy.  "Do you have any better ideas?"

"Not really . . ." Vegeta sighed. "But if by some freak of nature this ever happens again, _I'm_ choosing the name."

"It's a deal," Bulma agreed, smiling.  She looked from Vegeta, to little Trunks, the two most important men in her life.  Trunks' birth hadn't actually been planned, but now that it had happened, Bulma wouldn't want it any other way.

Vegeta stood up from the chair in which he was sitting and picked Bulma up, careful not to jostle her or the infant.  "I'm sick of this hospital," he proclaimed.  "I'm getting out of here," he kicked open the window and flew out, raising his ki level enough to keep his mate and their son warm.  

Bulma held Trunks close to her and closed her eyes, feeling Vegeta's arms around her, protecting her.  _Let those androids come_, she thought dreamily, _Vegeta can handle them._

Vegeta glanced down as he sensed Bulma begin to doze off, and a small smile crept unbidden across his features.  _You were right, Father . . . the day _did_ come.  And do you know what?  I don't care whether you would have approved or not._

*

Son Goku smiled to himself as three ki signatures — two familiar, one not so familiar — streaked across the sky.  "They're going home," he murmured to himself.

"What was that?" ChiChi glanced over at him. "What's happening?"

Goku shook his head, a small, mysterious grin on his face.  "Just one of those things that was meant to be, that's all."

******

You know ... I'm kind of sad to see this one go. This was the product of six months of solid writing and editing. *Sigh*... Oh, well. Tell me if you like/dislike it!


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